inman
I love inman square. I got to the 10pm Theater Sportz show early and walked around and wished I had chosen to live in Cambridge.
Inman square smells like an adventure is waiting to happen. It's a tantalizing blend of clove cigarettes and common cigarettes with a dash of coffee house cling. Over all of that wafts the mystical aroma of india's food: cumin, black mustard seed, chili pepper, fenugreek, garlic and turmeric. Poetry in your nose. Last night it also smacked of autumn, as crisp winds blew cracked dry, leaves (early divers), around the streets. Bubbles fell from a second story apartment window like a tech rehearsal for West Side Story had just reached its halfway point on someone else's private stage. All around through open windows the young, hip, and utterly at ease engaged in conversations while simultaneously smoking, drinking, eating, and breathing the essence of the Square itself. A jazz band played just inside an open doorway, inviting passersby in for a noncommittal aural love making session, and down the street signs in all colors promise tantalizing things to those who walk on
FRESH CHICKENS KILLED DAILY
$3 DRAFTS!
IMPROV TONIGHT!
Girls in tight shirt get wolf calls from bicycling men, and two women as serene as neat as water nymphs embrace and lounge on a bench outside of 1639. Everyone makes eye contact. Everyone can smell the curry and the vindaloo cooking. Everyone is smiling and illuminated, and peaceful and surrounded by dead leaves and bubbles. Everybody lives. And I walk taller.
Inman square smells like an adventure is waiting to happen. It's a tantalizing blend of clove cigarettes and common cigarettes with a dash of coffee house cling. Over all of that wafts the mystical aroma of india's food: cumin, black mustard seed, chili pepper, fenugreek, garlic and turmeric. Poetry in your nose. Last night it also smacked of autumn, as crisp winds blew cracked dry, leaves (early divers), around the streets. Bubbles fell from a second story apartment window like a tech rehearsal for West Side Story had just reached its halfway point on someone else's private stage. All around through open windows the young, hip, and utterly at ease engaged in conversations while simultaneously smoking, drinking, eating, and breathing the essence of the Square itself. A jazz band played just inside an open doorway, inviting passersby in for a noncommittal aural love making session, and down the street signs in all colors promise tantalizing things to those who walk on
FRESH CHICKENS KILLED DAILY
$3 DRAFTS!
IMPROV TONIGHT!
Girls in tight shirt get wolf calls from bicycling men, and two women as serene as neat as water nymphs embrace and lounge on a bench outside of 1639. Everyone makes eye contact. Everyone can smell the curry and the vindaloo cooking. Everyone is smiling and illuminated, and peaceful and surrounded by dead leaves and bubbles. Everybody lives. And I walk taller.